When The Tide Rolls In
by scully1138
Summary: Normally John is the one who calls to say goodbye. But when Harold becomes involved in a hostage crisis it's his turn to make the call, and John has a choice to make. This story will be 3 chapters long, with alternating POVs. Disclaimer: I do not own Person of Interest or these characters.
1. Chapter 1

When the Tide Rolls In

Chapter 1

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Harold Finch lay face down on the cold tile floor of the First Mercantile Bank and tried to calm the agitated dog alongside of him. Moments ago a fairly routine day had taken a disturbing turn, even by their standards…

Only nineteen, Martina Hawley had recently summoned the courage to leave her abusive boyfriend, who seemed like the obvious threat to her life. John had gone to _talk_ to the man, and the seemingly benign job of trailing Ms. Hawley had fallen to Harold. And so he had followed her here, as she applied for the bank's low-interest student loan program. Martina was alone in the world, having lost both her parents in an accident the previous year, and Harold admired her determination to rebuild her life after so much tragedy.

He had been absorbed in these thoughts when four men in ski masks had nonchalantly strolled into the bank, firing machine guns into the air with deafening effect, and terrifying the customers and staff.

"Bear, _stil. Afliggen._"

Harold had managed to get the commands out before being shoved brusquely to the ground by one of the gunmen, whose distinguishing characteristic appeared to be a mass of straggly black hair hanging out from under his mask. Thankfully Bear's training had held even in the face of this assault, though a low growl was emanating from the back of his throat, and every muscle quivered with tension, poised to attack. Harold continued now to soothe the Malinois. Bear was wearing his service vest and so far they appeared to be simply a man with his guide dog. It was the best cover they could have at this moment, while he continued to analyze the situation. Harold looked over as one of the thieves - a burly man with elaborately tattooed arms - addressed the frightened group huddled on the floor of the bank.

"Quiet everyone, and don't move. You don't want to be a hero today. Playing hero is only going to get you hurt."

The thief grabbed the bank manager by one arm and walked him at gunpoint to the vault in the back of the bank. Another member of the crew was skillfully disabling the surveillance feeds while the straggly-haired man kept watch at the door. The final gunman - a short, nervous fellow - was collecting all the cell phones. Harold prided himself on being a man with many contingencies, and this situation was no exception. He slid a useless burner phone across the floor. The robbery was proceeding efficiently and so far the customers were remaining calm. If everything continued to go smoothly, this all might be over soon.

Harold's attention was suddenly drawn to a furious conversation at the rear of the lobby. The tattooed man was cursing angrily, and the manager was trying to placate him in a composed - but clearly fearful - voice. He couldn't see the vault from his position at the far side of the room, but it appeared that whatever this group had been planning to steal was no longer there. And at the sound of approaching sirens Harold's hope of a safe resolution to their predicament quickly faded. They were all now officially hostages.

He slowly lifted his head from the floor and looked around, keeping one hand on Bear's back. He was in the furthest position from the thieves, who were distracted now and arguing among themselves. He took a chance and made the call, keeping his voice as low as possible.

"Mr. Reese?'

"What's wrong, Harold?"

There was a note of alarm in his partner's response. Apparently he had failed in his attempt to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

"We have a small complication. Ms. Hawley and I - and about a dozen others - are currently hostages at the First Mercantile Bank on Hudson Street."

"_What?_ Talk to me, Finch. What's the situation?"

"Four men in ski masks with machine guns. Not very imaginative, I might point out."

He heard a low chuckle at the other end.

"At first I thought they were well-organized, but something's gone wrong now. Whatever they were looking for isn't here, and the police are arriving even as we speak. Things are getting a little tense."

"Hang in there. I'm on my way to you right now."

"John, please proceed carefully. Every branch of law enforcement will be outside. Try not to…draw attention to yourself."

"Do I ever, Harold?"

He allowed himself a small smile despite the circumstances, and felt some of his apprehension melt away at the sound of his partner's calm voice. The situation was still precarious, but with John on the way their chances for survival had just increased significantly. He looked around for Martina. The girl was sitting on the floor with the banker who had been assisting her. The women had their arms wrapped around each other and were watching the gunmen in fearful, stunned silence. Harold inched over to them.

"I'm sure this will all be over soon. The authorities are very skilled at handling this type of situation. We just need to remain calm."

.

Harold eased himself on to one side and tried to stretch his bad leg. After an hour on the hard floor his entire body was getting stiff, and his earlier optimism was beginning to wane. At first the robbers had refused to even speak to the authorities outside as they examined every section of the bank, searching for another means of escape. The manager had been a calming influence throughout, accommodating the criminals as best he could, and so far no one had been hurt. There was a sudden flurry of activity in the front of the bank. Apparently the negotiations had finally begun. The tattooed man - his gun still trained on the bank manager - turned back to face the hostages.

"Listen up. We're letting one of you go."

The manager scanned the room, his eyes coming to rest on Harold and Bear.

"Him. Let him go, the man with the guide dog."

Harold saw an opportunity and jumped at it.

"No, really. I would much rather you release the young lady." He gestured towards Martina. "I insist on it, actually."

The robber nodded, and the girl looked back at Harold gratefully as she shakily got to her feet. All eyes were on Martina as she slowly made her way towards the door with her hands in the air. Harold stood up surreptitiously and walked a few steps to a private corner of the lobby.

"Mr. Reese, are you there?"

"Always, Harold."

He felt a small twinge at the softly-spoken, familiar words, and at the concern in his partner's voice. Just for a moment he closed his eyes against their unexpected impact.

"I'm right outside," John continued. "What's going on in there?"

"The thieves are releasing a hostage and I've arranged for it to be Martina. She's on her way out now."

Harold paused. He'd had plenty of time to analyze the situation and something had begun to trouble him greatly.

"John, this just isn't adding up. It seems unlikely that the Machine would have singled out Martina's number from that of the other hostages. This situation may just be an unfortunate coincidence. And if that's the case, the real threat to Ms. Hawley is still out there. The police will release Martina after they question her, John. She'll still need you to protect her.

_Protect her, not me._

For a moment there was no response, but his partner's ambivalence was palpable through the dead air so Harold added as gently as he could,

"Stay with her, John."

"I get it, Harold."

The terse reply was fraught with the other man's conflicted emotions.

Harold surveyed the scene around him. The situation could explode at any time. The robbers were becoming increasingly desperate, and the jittery one had begun shouting and waving his gun erratically at the cowering hostages. Suddenly he pointed the gun at the ceiling and angrily shot out a skylight, showering the frightened people below with glass and eliciting another round of terrified screams.

"_Finch!"_

"I'm still here, Mr. Reese."

But clearly time was running out.

"Listen to me, please. I know I don't need to ask you to continue with our mission - I already know that you will. And if something happens to me, my people will find you. You will always be provided for, John. I've seen to everything."

"Stop, Harold. It's not going to come to that."

Harold paused before continuing quietly,

"I think that it might, and you need to start preparing yourself to go on without me."

John's silence on the other end was its own kind of misery for both of them. In a very real way, dying was the easy part - it was much harder being the one left behind. Their partnership made them central to each other's lives, and now Harold ached at the thought of his friend being left alone yet again. He even had the other man's dog with him, he realized bleakly.

There was so much more he wanted to say. In times of crisis, John always called to say goodbye, to in his own way acknowledge what this work and their relationship meant to him. But now that it was his turn, Harold struggled to find the words. How could he express, in their few remaining moments, his gratitude for the man's friendship and loyalty, and for his devotion to a dangerous cause that John had willingly embraced as his own.

In the end Harold simply used his partner's own words, knowing he would understand.

"And John, _I've_ been happy too."

Suddenly there was a shout from one of the robbers.

"Over there! He's the one. I told you someone still had a phone."

Caught up in his conversation with John, Harold had inadvertently turned his back on the gunmen, his guard completely down. He gasped as he was grabbed from behind and a hood jammed roughly over his head. Before he could even react to the panic that arose from the sudden blackness, he cried out in pain as something hard was brought down across his hand and Bear's leash ripped away. The dog's ferocious barking was abruptly cut off mid-snarl and Harold wanted to call out to him, but the butt of a gun came down on his head and he slipped to the floor unconscious.

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A/N: Of course "I've been happy, too" is a reference to John's comment in "Shadow Box." And I do know that not everyone enjoys a cliffhanger - sorry! - but if you hang in there with me I promise to have the next chapter up in a day or two. I appreciate every review and comment, so please feel free to let me know what you think. Thanks so much for reading my story!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the delay! As I was polishing the story I realized that I wanted the last two chapters to go up together, and that took a little longer. But the story is complete now, and I hope you enjoy it.

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When the Tide Rolls In

Chapter 2

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John Reese was not accustomed to feeling panic, but right now the unfamiliar emotion was threatening to overwhelm him. He heard angry voices and some kind of scuffle, then the line had gone ominously dead. And now he stood outside the bank helplessly, the one still thing among the sea of emergency vehicles, first responders and reporters who were descending upon the chaotic scene. There was a din of sirens and the racket of television helicopters hovering overhead, but all John could hear were Harold's final words to him playing over in his head. A chill had gone through his body and stayed there when he realized that Harold was saying goodbye to him.

"_And John, I've been happy too."_

How little they ever said but how well they understood each other, and hearing his very private friend echo his own feelings had touched John deeply. Neither of them had expected happiness yet somehow they had found it, and a bit of peace and comfort as well. Trust and respect had slowly grown between them, quietly bringing the unspoken realization that they were each no longer alone in the world. And with his friend's words John was struck by the full force of how much he had come to need the other man in his life. He stared at the bank again. It seemed unbelievable that Harold could be so close and still be just beyond his reach. Was he hurt - or worse? Not knowing was agonizing, and John felt sick at the thought of what his friend might be suffering.

"Sir! You need to get back behind the barricade."

He absently flashed Marshall Jennings' badge at the officer, who nodded as he returned his attention to the burgeoning crowd of gapers and onlookers now threatening to overrun the police lines. The circus atmosphere common to these events was quickly developing. John looked over at Martina, who was being examined by the paramedics. The police were standing by to question the young woman, and then she would be released into whatever threat still awaited her.

"_Stay with her, John."_

John cast his eyes back and forth between the frail girl who so clearly needed his protection and the building that held the man to whom he owed his very life. They never discussed what they would do if _this_ happened - they never needed to. Both men understood the dangers - and the priorities - of their mission. But now that the moment was upon him John felt paralyzed, knowing what he _must_ do and at the same time wondering if he was capable of it, if he could really leave Harold to his fate as his partner had asked. And he was stunned by the irony that the work of which they were so proud would now compel him to sacrifice the best man he had ever known. He flinched as a loud voice called out behind him.

"There you are. I've been trying to get a hold of you."

John turned to face the detective.

"What's going on in there, Lionel?"

Fusco rolled his eyes.

"They've asked for the usual - a bus to take them to the airport and a plane to a country with no extradition."

"But they won't get that, will they?"

John knew very well how these things worked. All kinds of promises would be made, but the authorities would never actually concede to the criminals' demands.

"No. They're making plans right now to storm the bank and take out the gunmen."

"And the hostages?"

Fusco averted his eyes.

"The official policy in these situations is _acceptable civilian casualties_."

The thought of Harold caught in the middle of a shoot out was terrifying, and John's fear rose to such a level that it was new to him.

"_You need to start preparing yourself to go on without me."_

During his time with the CIA he had done many unsavory things, things he had come to regret deeply. But he had always carried out his duties no matter how abhorrent. And now John wondered if this situation - his inability to save the one person who mattered to him - was his punishment, some sort of cosmic retribution for all the lives he had taken while with the CIA. But he quickly dropped the thought, afraid that he wouldn't be able to bear the answer.

"John!"

Detective Carter maneuvered through the crowd and joined them.

"The robbers just released one of the hostages."

"I know, Carter. That's our girl. Finch managed to get her out."

"And Harold?" she asked softly.

John shook his head. But in that moment he knew with absolute clarity that there was only one path he could take here, only one choice he would ever make.

"Carter, we're not convinced this was the only threat against Martina. The police will take her statement but then they'll release her, and she may still be in danger."

The detective looked at him incredulously.

"Are you really saying that being taken hostage in a botched bank robbery isn't the worst thing that's going to happen to her today?"

"Not if you're looking out for her, Detective," he said pointedly.

He felt her follow his gaze back to the besieged bank before returning to look at him sympathetically.

"Of course, I'll help her, John. I'll take her into protective custody until this is over."

This wasn't exactly what Harold expected of him, John knew very well, but Martina would be completely safe with the detective. And if Harold disapproved of his actions, well hopefully they would have a long time to argue about it.

John looked at the detectives and they all knew what was coming next.

"I need to get in there."

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He slid smoothly into the SWAT gear and melted in with the officers as they quietly worked their way around to the back of the bank. A small charge would blow the heavy security door, but it would also alert the gunmen to their presence. Whatever was about to happen, John had a feeling it would all be over quickly.

He stood back with the others as the explosives were discharged. The door was partially ripped off of its hinges and two officers moved in to pull it away. The team entered a wide passageway in the rear of the bank that opened to a row of offices and conference rooms, and as they swarmed the hallway machine gun fire assaulted them from both sides. The sound was earsplitting in the confined area, and from somewhere in the bank Bear's frenzied barking added to the clamor. A young officer immediately took a bullet in the leg and went down, and as John pulled him back to safety he realized that the thieves had split up and probably divided the hostages as well. It was a smart strategy, designed to create maximum confusion. It would also - he thought grimly - place the hostages in maximum danger.

As the team began to breach the passageway and return fire, a gunman in the back utility room shoved a hostage - a startled looking man in a baseball cap - out into the hall and into the middle of the fray, but his actions left him exposed just long enough for the team's captain to take him out. This brought another barrage of bullets from the lobby end of the hallway, and one of the officers grabbed the civilian and pushed him to the ground. The captain covered him as John stepped over the body of the fallen gunman and anxiously searched the storage room. It was clear except for a few of the shell-shocked hostages huddled together on the floor, and John felt his chest tighten as he realized that Harold was not among them. He pressed himself against the wall as a bullet grazed his shoulder. The machine gun fire from the remaining robbers intensified, but they were outnumbered and the SWAT team was advancing on them.

In desperation the thieves suddenly forced the other hostages into the passageway between themselves and the team, forcing the officers to cease fire as the frightened people ran towards them. John felt a sick, growing dread as he saw that Harold was not with this group either. Behind the hostages the gunmen were attempting to back into the lobby. The shorter one had a gun to the head of a young teller and the others were wildly spraying bullets at the hostages as the officers frantically tried to clear them out of the way. John helped pull the civilians to safety and turned back to face the perpetrators.

Releasing the hostages had created a diversion, but in doing so the robbers also played their final card. The team picked off the two flanking gunmen. Only the man holding the teller remained and John had a clean shot. He dropped him with a single bullet.

His heart pounding wildly, John reeled and searched the stricken faces of the hostages once more.

"This isn't everyone!"

"The man with the guide dog," responded the manager, "they left him in the lobby after they knocked him out."

John tore into the lobby, almost stumbling in his haste, and choked back a little cry at the sight of the crumpled, hooded figure slumped against the wall.

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A/N: I couldn't do it! I couldn't leave the story here even for a day, so please carry on to the final chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

When the Tide Rolls In

Chapter 3

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Harold awoke to darkness and pain, his hands bound behind his back and his head throbbing beneath the black hood. As far as he could tell he was still laying exactly where his assailants had discarded him. He tried to sit up but his body ached after being left in such an awkward position and he quickly abandoned the attempt. He had no sense of Bear or the other hostages around him, but he could hear the loud, agitated voices of the gunmen coming from the back of the bank. The only other sounds were coming from outside - the noise of helicopters passing overhead and a policeman exhorting the crowd of onlookers through a bullhorn to stay behind the barricades. The other voices were indecipherable, but Harold understood well enough how this was likely to play out. SWAT was probably already planning to retake the bank by force. A confrontation was imminent, and lives were undoubtedly going to be lost.

He had accepted that he would probably not survive this day from the moment he sent John away to protect Martina. But that didn't prevent him from being afraid, and with the hood over his head claustrophobia was beginning to compound his fear. Still, Harold could always master his mind even as his body failed him, and he gathered all of his formidable powers of concentration and began to reflect. If this really was the end he would use his remaining time purposefully. He was old enough now to look back on all the chapters of his life - the failures and the successes - with more objectivity than ever before. But perhaps chapter was the wrong word, he mused. It was more like recognizing the ebb and flow of his life, like the tide rolling in and then returning to the sea. And each time the tide had rolled out it had taken something more from him, washing away Nathan, Grace, even his health until it had threatened to separate him from the very moorings of his life. Then one mysterious day the tide rolled in, bringing John Reese to him - filling a void he hadn't even acknowledged existed - and changing his life forever.

And only now, he thought ruefully, just as the tide was ebbing out for the final time, did he truly realize how much he wanted to live, how much he wanted to go on with John and continue their work and their partnership.

His reverie was interrupted by a sudden burst of gunfire. He started at the sound and with effort managed to roll up on his knees, leaning against the wall. But after hours on the hard floor he found that he could no longer straighten his damaged neck, so he simply bowed his head and tried to conjure a pleasant memory. If his life was over, he would make his last thought a happy one. The image that materialized was of his last visit to the park with John and Bear. The scene came back to him with shocking vividness now. The unseasonable warmth of an early spring day, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the oak trees, Bear's joyful bark as they took turns throwing the ball for him. He had been talking enthusiastically about the beginning of baseball season, and John had taken great delight in teasing him about his vast knowledge of batting averages and other statistics. Such a sweet, simple moment, and he realized with a pang how much he had taken it for granted. But if this was to be his final thought it was a good one, the best really.

He cringed as the sound of gunfire drew closer, and held fast to the image in his mind's eye. But the shooting stopped as abruptly as it had started.

And suddenly there were gentle hands on his shoulders, reaching around his throat to check for a pulse then sliding up to massage his crooked neck, relieving some of the pain there. And finally a familiar, husky voice in his ear,

"I've got you, Harold."

He felt his hands being freed, and his body carefully eased around until he was sitting on the floor with his back supported by the wall. And as the hood was gently lifted off his head, Harold blinked his eyes against the light before looking into his partner's worried face. He thought for a moment that John might try to help him up, but instead the other man sank to the floor alongside of him. He looked utterly drained.

"Let's not do this again for a while, okay?"

There was such care reflected on his friend's face that for a moment any words Harold tried to summon seemed to catch in his throat.

"Harold, are you hurt?"

At his partner's rising alarm he finally found his voice.

"I don't believe so. But I was quite convinced this was the end of me."

"Not if I could help it, Harold," his friend said plainly. John paused before adding quietly,

"_Bear_ would have missed you."

Harold closed his eyes and let his partner's words wash over him. But he opened them again after a moment to reassure himself that the other man was really there and not some final, wishful apparition. But John seemed quite real, and as Harold soaked in his friend's comforting presence his battered body seemed to ache just a little less.

Suddenly he was struck by a disquieting thought.

"Mr. Reese - " he began, his voice rising.

He stopped as his partner let his head fall wearily back against the wall with a small thump. But John turned back to him quickly with a rare, broad smile.

"Well I guess you really are all right if you're about to take me to task."

Harold was silent for a moment, flustered at having been seen through so thoroughly, but John was regarding him with an expression of open relief and affection.

"Martina is with Detective Carter. She's safe, Harold."

"I was just asking, Mr. Reese."

The other man raised an eyebrow and fixed him with a very knowing look.

They were saved at that moment by the arrival of Fusco and a jubilant Bear, who assailed them with gusto.

"Hey, look who I found tearing up the manager's office."

"How are the other hostages, Detective?" asked Harold.

"Just a few minor injuries. The EMT's are patching them up now. And your girl left with Carter, so I'm thinking our work here is done. I don't know about you two, but I'm ready to call it a day."

John stood up and helped Harold to his feet, giving his shoulder a tender squeeze in the process and letting his hand rest there as if he were afraid to let him go.

"How about it, Harold? Are you ready to go home?"

Harold gave his partner a long, grateful look.

"If you don't mind, John, there's something I'd like to do first.

.

_A park bench on a breezy day. The sound of leaves rustling and a dog barking. The warmth of the sun above him, and John's warmth beside him. One more moment to savor all the precious things that the tide rolled in today._

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FIN

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A/N: I just love a happy ending, and I hope everyone else enjoyed it as well. And thanks so very much to all of you who left such nice reviews and messages. I really appreciate each and every one!


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